


As The World Caves In Around Us

by heloluv



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Also Sorry Bad at Tagging Not Done This Before, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), But They Deserve The Best, Experienced Crowley (Good Omens), First Fic Pls Go Easy On Me Many Thanks :), Inexperienced Aziraphale (Good Omens), It Begins With A Nightcap, M/M, Post Armageddidnt, Power Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Pre-Heaven and Hell Trying and Failing to Murder the Husbands, Service Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), So THEY GET THE BEST, They Assume The Worst, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:42:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27208312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heloluv/pseuds/heloluv
Summary: A One-Shot that is loosely (very loosely... like................. VERY loosely) based on 'As The World Caves In' by Matt Maltese. Rated E, BUT everything beyond a smooch is sectioned off if reader prefers to skip.Crowley and Aziraphale have succeeded (with help - a lot of help) in putting a stop to Armageddon. But, as reward for saving humanity, will Heaven and Hell send their own shared world, built across six thousand years, caving in around them?They strongly suspect as much. So how will they spend their final night alive?
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 92
Collections: Top Aziraphale Recs





	As The World Caves In Around Us

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!
> 
> Just a little note about the E rated section.
> 
> For anyone who prefers to skip, it is framed by lines like these:
> 
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
> 
> So do feel free to read without that part if you wish.
> 
> (Please be aware that the moments just before and after this section do tread the line in terms of being quite heavy with tension (I hope, lol)/indicative of what has occurred. If that isn't for you, do avoid!)
> 
> Otherwise, I hope anyone who reads enjoys my first ever piece of writing for the fandom! :D

They had succeeded.

The clouds had cleared away, the kraken had returned to the deep and the world was still intact. So why did it still feel like everything was a breath away from falling apart?

The two of them climbed aboard the bus and as Aziraphale went to sit his two hands gravitated towards one another with the intention of resuming their usual worried wringing. But before they could meet he felt a warm palm slip between them and clasp one of his, putting an immediate stop to his attempt at fretting.

Had he been reliant upon a beating heart his corporation’s reaction to feeling Crowley’s skin against his own would have been a cause for concern. He felt his stomach somersault, and a tense heat prickled up his neck from beneath his collar. Aziraphale froze until Crowley used their interwoven hands to gently pull him down into his seat.

As the bus – once bound for Oxford – made its way to London, an Angel and a Demon sat side by side, hand in hand, in companionable silence.

* * *

The two of them alighted the bus in Mayfair near Crowley’s flat. Aziraphale was intending to stroll back to his shop, breathing in the smells of London and taking in the sights, arms behind his back. Crowley was planning on uncorking his favourite vintage whiskey, putting his favourite record on loop, and getting unfathomably drunk. Though they hadn’t spoken on their journey, both had used the time to consider the implications of what they had done. Together, they had managed to put a stopper on Armageddon. Heaven and Hell both knew.

Crowley and Aziraphale were not planning on kidding themselves. Until it was done they’d not had the time to consider the consequences that crossing their respective sides might have. If they were going to be honest, neither of them had ever wanted to pin too much hope on succeeding. Neither of them had wanted to spend precious, finite time planning out a future that was so unlikely to come to fruition.

But they had succeeded. And now, stepping off that bus in Mayfair, they had both come to understand why their lives still felt so fragile. Why, even with the end of the world averted, they still each felt as if they were standing on the edge of a terrible, infinite emptiness without even the other for company.

Heaven and Hell knew. Heaven and Hell would not let them live to enjoy the world as reward for their transgressions.

One last night, they both estimated. Retribution would surely be swift. As their eyes met they spoke without words, saying:

‘This is the end.’

‘I know.’

The Earth would continue to turn, that was confirmed. But it wouldn’t be long before Crowley and Aziraphale’s world – the one that they had built between them across six-thousand years, hiding in plain sight from their respective unforgiving superiors – would come crashing down around them.

Until now, eternity had lay stretched out before them: so much left to see, so much left to do, so much left to say. But they’d had time. Without a moment’s notice, it had all disappeared.

How long left until the world caves in? This time, there was no countdown. There was only here and now.

It was Crowley who eventually broke the silence.

"You don’t have to stay. But at least come in for a drink."

* * *

What do you say to your best friend on the last night of your life? Of their life? After so long, many pairs would have run out of things to talk about. Not these two.

The gallows humour of Crowley’s sentient stereo set had them listening to a song about Doomsday; Aziraphale, finding the on-the-nose lyrics more than a little distasteful, raised his voice.

"Crowley! I of all people can appreciate the taste of a whiskey so well aged, but the whole point of drinking a vintage is to savour it! You’re not supposed to knock it back it a glass at a time!"

Bickering. Six thousand years of it. For two supposed hereditary enemies, there is nothing quite so blatantly imbued with love as a good old fashioned bicker.

"Just bloody toast me, angel!" Crowley strutted towards Aziraphale who was stood, prim as ever, next to his extremely modern sofa. The angel was unsuccessfully trying to hide his disdain for modern architecture; he looked extremely out of place, and absolutely wonderful. "Toast. We saved the bloody world. If I want to down a whiskey I’ve been saving for almost a century, I damn well will. And I think that you should do it with me!"

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. But, after a pause, he held up his glass. As the two of them locked gazes the light bouncing off the moon shone in through Crowley’s floor to ceiling windows, making the angel’s hair glow a shimmering platinum. Crowley was transfixed.

They looked at one another, and then Aziraphale spoke, his voice sweeter to Crowley’s ears than any celestial harmony he’d ever heard before his fall.

"To the world."

A pause. Taking the opportunity provided by the silent moment, a solitary tear rolled down Aziraphale’s cheek, gleaming and pearlescent in the cold light of the night. He tried to look away but Crowley still saw. The demon let go of his glass and time slowed down. The pace of Aziraphale’s teardrop became unhurried; the whiskey tumbler dropped at its own leisurely speed; the rays of moonshine that were spotlighting the two of them swirled steadily where before they had sliced through the air, sharp as a knife. Crowley stepped towards Aziraphale and the angel lifted his head, the two of them locking eyes once more. As everything around them slowed down, their two hearts sped up.

They had saved the world. They had been found out. For six thousand years they had remained an arm’s length apart in order to keep each other safe; now, there was nothing left to lose.

This time, when Crowley closed the gap between the two of them, Aziraphale could not save him by stepping away. So he didn’t.

* * *

Crowley’s hand on Aziraphale’s cheek, thumb swiping away the tear, having not one single thought about the potential for being burned by such holy, sacred water. Aziraphale’s hands on Crowley’s lapels, pulling the demon against his chest; a sob, held in for six thousand years, at the ache of trying to protect for so long and _still_ coming face to face with losing the one you love. Crowley’s arms encase him, holding tight.

Aziraphale swallows his tears, and speaks.

"I’ve loved you for six-thousand years, and the only time I have left to prove it is one blasted night." He sniffles, trying to smile. "Just our luck, isn’t it, dear boy."

Crowley feels his heart soar. Holding him close he speaks into the shoulder of Aziraphale’s coat, listening to the beating of the angel’s pulse.

"You’ve proven it plenty."

A thick, weighted silence, and then a whisper:

"I think you’re beautiful, Crowley."

"And I you, angel."

Aziraphale’s hand lands upon Crowley’s neck, and gently lifts his head. "Would you mind awfully if I took off those glasses? I’d very much like to look into your eyes right now."

Crowley clicks his fingers and the glasses disappear. Aziraphale is enamoured with him, and the way his eyes burn like the sun on all of the warmest, brightest days Aziraphale has ever known.

Together they move towards one another; their foreheads rest together and they each taste the other’s breath.

Crowley’s is vintage whiskey, cinnamon and chilli. Aziraphale’s is mint tea, dark chocolate and crisp wine.

It only takes the slightest brush of lips for their whole, intertwined existence to make sense.

Aziraphale is the one to start it: no longer able to resist, he allows his slightly open mouth to ghost against Crowley’s lower lip. The heat between them is unbearable and it builds towards fireworks at that minute touch. Crowley’s hands card into Aziraphale’s hair, and there is no more trepidation left inside the angel. His heart thrums, his skin tingles, the pit of his stomach aches with desire. He presses forward, he feels hands tighten on his white-blond locks, he closes his eyes.

Crowley feels the angel’s cotton cloud hair between his fingers. He feels Aziraphale’s tentative move towards him after millennia of watching him move away; his heart swells with pride as he watches his love take his first steps for himself, rather than for Heaven or for Her. His blood rushes hot as he feels the angel's quickened breath; his stomach flips as Aziraphale’s hand cups his jaw; he draws in a silent breath as he sees the blond close his eyes.

They both press. They both pull. The kiss ignites a fire that has been bubbling beneath the surface for six-thousand years.

Aziraphale moans a sound of sweet relief, and Crowley’s hands need more. One holding the curls, the other on the angel’s neck, down his collar, under his overcoat and over his waist until it finds the small of his back, pulling him closer. Aziraphale sighs deep and strong into Crowley’s mouth and his hands move to the back of the demon’s neck, making the kiss deeper.

More push, more pull, and then a tiny gap appears between their mouths so that Aziraphale can speak.

"Crowley..."

The word is guttural, breathless, the hottest thing that Crowley has ever heard. He pushes Aziraphale onto the sofa and looks down at him, taking in the crooked bow tie, the messy hair and the kiss-swollen lips. Aziraphale gazes up, pupils blown and eyes clouded with awe, totally and utterly in love. Crowley climbs atop the angel, straddling his lap. Aziraphale gasps, his head falling back: his hands move onto the demon's hips. Crowley reaches out, stroking down the line of the angel’s neck, and he feels how Aziraphale is trembling ever so softly with desire. Crowley’s heart soars and he leans forward, whispering in his love’s ear.

"Aziraphale," he places a gentle kiss by his lobe, "Aziraphale," and another on his neck; the angel is almost whimpering beneath him. "Gorgeous."

One of Crowley’s thumbs strokes over Aziraphale’s Adam’s Apple, his other hand moving down the front of the familiar velveteen waistcoat. He nibbles around to the front of Aziraphale’s throat, pausing by his vocal chords, which bob as the angel struggles for words.

Crowley saves him the trouble:

"Shhh. Don’t try to speak."

Crowley has often wondered whether Aziraphale had been expected to remain chaste. The visceral reactions on display beneath him are giving him his answer.

The Demon speaks again, hushed and seductive, breath dancing across the sensitive skin of the angel’s neck:

"Now I know how Eve must have felt in the Garden. I’ve never seen anything as tempting as this." His teeth graze over the Adam’s Apple once again and Aziraphale groans, his hands gripping Crowley’s waist, holding him close.

Aziraphale is floating. His skin sparking wherever Crowley touches, his heart leaping with arousal at every word from the demon’s infernal mouth. With great concentration he manages to drag his own soaring spirit back down into his corporation and tugs at Crowley’s coat. Crowley chuckles, and Aziraphale wants to bite him. Instead, he flips them over in one swift movement, relishing the gasp of attraction that Crowley makes in response to this show of strength. Breathless, he leans down and kisses the demon once more.

Sparks fly, and spontaneous miracles occur around the globe.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Aziraphale pulls again at Crowley's jacket.

"Take it off," Aziraphale knows that his inexperience is clear to Crowley and he couldn’t care less. He is with the one person who has never truly judged him and never will. "Please, Crowley, take it off."

Crowley does. Hearing such weighty pleas in his angel’s normally prim tones would probably make him do anything and he couldn’t care less. He is with the one person who has never led him into danger and never will. He casts his coat aside and feels Aziraphale’s virgin hands stroking and tugging at his Henley.

A seductive whisper in the ear:

"Aziraphale. Come to bed with me."

A pause. A sheepish reply:

"Crowley, I really- I really don’t mean to be rude, but you know sleep isn’t my area of expertise, and I rather thought we were in the middle of som-"

Crowley’s mouth drops open. He is in love with a half-wit. He stands up, taking Aziraphale’s hands and pulling him up too.

"I’m not asking you to go to sleep. As a matter of fact, I might personally ensure that all tartan themed paraphernalia is banned if you do."

He drags a flushed Aziraphale to his bedroom and pushes him against the wall. Reminiscent of a moment they’d once shared in Tadfield Manor, only this time their lips meet with speed. Aziraphale allows Crowley to push his coat from his shoulders, his heart swelling as the demon miracles it onto the coat rail before it has the chance to hit the floor. Crowley’s hands grip at his waist, then move to his broad upper back. Aziraphale reacts on reflex as Crowley kisses his neck, pushing his hips forward. He gasps, looking down; his slacks hide nothing of his desire and his cheeks burn red. Noticing the angel’s sudden shyness, Crowley takes hold of his hand and presses it against the front of his chest so that Aziraphale can feel the hammering of his heart.

"Don’t be shy, angel," he leads the blond's hand down his chest, over his abdomen; he sees Aziraphale’s eyes widen with desire at the contact. He brings the hand to rest on the buckle of his belt. "It’s not only you."

Aziraphale realises what Crowley means; though his tight trousers keep it close to his body, there is an erection in the demon’s trousers to match his own. He gasps softly, and watches as Crowley closes the space between their hips. They moan together as their respective heats became one and when they kiss again they each begin to roll and rut erratically, hands all over one another.

Crowley pulls Aziraphale away from the wall, moving backward until his own legs hit the bed. Aziraphale follows like a spaniel, transfixed by the line of the demon’s figure and the pleasure that they are indulging in together. All he sees is Crowley, who now sits on the edge of the bed. When Aziraphale is close enough to stand between his legs, Crowley makes a start on undoing the buttons of the waistcoat that has been hugging Aziraphale's torso for the last century or so. When it finally hangs open he slides his hands to the angel’s suspenders and tugs on them; Aziraphale’s trousers shift against his aching hardness with every pull and he looks down at Crowley, pleading.

"Let me see you," says the demon.

Aziraphale nods and Crowley’s hands unbutton the strained slacks, palming Aziraphale’s white cotton underwear.

The angel has never felt anything like it. Crowley’s gentle ministrations send him weak at the knees and he feels air rush against his sensitive cock as Crowley fully unsheathes it. He looks upwards, sideward, away; anywhere that isn’t at Crowley, overcome with self-consciousness.

A hand slips into his and another slips around to the back of his thigh as Crowley pulls him closer until his cashmere covered shins hit the bed.

"Don’t look away like that." Crowley places a gentle kiss on Aziraphale’s navel, lifting the hem of his pale blue shirt to do so. The demon nuzzles his skin gently. "You’re beautiful."

Aziraphale drops to his knees before Crowley’s lips can touch his effort. He gazes up, his hands groping needily up Crowley’s thighs; he tries to emulate his lover, touching around the outline of the hard on but not yet onto it. He isn’t yet ready to boldly proclaim what he desires, so instead he pulls at Crowley’s belt and speaks in timid tones.

"I want to see you too."

As soon as Crowley nods his approval Aziraphale’s hands are undoing his belt, unzipping his jeans. Crowley gasps at the unexpected skill with which the angel moves; there is a pause as Aziraphale admires Crowley in his stylish black underwear. Then, with reverence, the angel pulls his waistband down. The two of them are stood to full attention and Crowley notices the precum dripping from the tip of his lover’s member.

Aziraphale looks drunk on love. Crowley strokes his hair as he leans forward, placing a soft kiss at the base of Crowley’s cock. He watches as the angel closes his eyes and starts to kiss his way up his shaft. The moan that escapes Aziraphale’s mouth as he reaches the tip and laps up Crowley’s precum vibrates throughout the demon’s entire corporation. Crowley knows the sounds that Aziraphale makes when he enjoys a taste; the noise is not unfamiliar.

The angel’s tender lips wrap around his tip. Their lack of practice makes no difference to Crowley, who only just resists the urge to writhe as he feels Aziraphale’s tongue make a slow circle around his head, savouring the taste. He barely has the breath to moan as Aziraphale makes an experimental suck down his shaft, cheeks hollowed, hands resting on the demon’s thighs.

"Fuck, angel!"

As Aziraphale begins to gain confidence he uses his tongue in a serpentine way that Hell would hand out a commendation for. He is enjoying lavishing gentle licks around Crowley’s twitching cock when the demon gently leads him off. He opens his eyes to see that Crowley is panting softly.

"Aziraphale! Please... I want this to last." The words are soft, breathy.

Aziraphale nods; he looks down, noticing the small pool being formed on the floor by his own dripping arousal. Crowley takes a determined hold on the angel’s bow tie and firmly guides him up until Aziraphale finds himself on the bed: the surface is softer on his knees and he sighs with anticipation as he realises how much closer he now is to the demon. Crowley is sat, legs spread, with Aziraphale knelt between.

Aziraphale shrugs his waistcoat off, heat flooding his veins once more as Crowley once again begins to tease around his needy cock. The demon’s jeans and snakeskin boots are vanished and Aziraphale yanks off the infernal necktie. Without warning, Crowley’s hand dips down into the angel’s underwear to cup his aching balls. The sensation makes Aziraphale stop in his tracks, taut with tension; Crowley lifts their weight and massages softly, simultaneously easing and worsening six millennias' worth of pent up need. His other hand slides up under Aziraphale’s shirt, touching his chest gently, showering his body with attention.

"Aziraphale," he whispers, breath like a ghost dancing across Aziraphale's skin. "Poor, sweet Angel. So tense."

Aziraphale, surprising even himself, whines in response.

Crowley lies back and Aziraphale follows, landing on top with Crowley still rubbing and squeezing gently at his sack. The demon leans up and whispers into his ear.

"I want you to fuck me, Aziraphale."

The angel almost discorporates. Crowley unclips his suspenders, pushing the slacks and underwear down. Aziraphale’s hips nestle in between Crowley’s now miraculously bare legs and the demon smiles breathlessly. They kiss again, Aziraphale grinding his hips, trousers around his knees, nothing in his mind other than Crowley. Making love to Crowley.

The demon is more than ready for the angel but he clicks his fingers to ensure that his entrance is suitably prepared to welcome his lover. He pets Aziraphale’s hair softly, reaching down to guide him with his other hand.

Aziraphale follows Crowley’s lead, allowing himself to be positioned. As his tip presses against the wet warmth of Crowley’s cheeks, he sighs.

He hears Crowley, _his_ demon, speak again.

"Take your time, love."

But they have already waited so long; there is no time left to lose.

Aziraphale presses his hips forward, feeling the heady pleasure of entering a lover for the first time. Crowley holds him as he moans, savouring the sounds and words that tumble from the angel above him.

"Oh," Aziraphale's word is almost a moan. As he bottoms out, his lips are parted in ecstasy. "FUCK. Crowley!"

Aziraphale is looking down at him with half lidded eyes and Crowley lets his head fall back as his partner begins to thrust. Nobody has ever fit inside him so perfectly before. He feels the throb of Aziraphale’s grace driving the movements of his powerful lover, giving them extra determination. Aziraphale looks sinful: his ridiculous bow tie is still fastened, his collar is still buttoned, but his face is the picture of bliss as his body shifts and he fucks into Crowley. Crowley reaches up and grabs onto Aziraphale’s collar, fumbling until the tie is undone and holding on to the ends tight in order to stay in place against the strength of Aziraphale’s hips. Crowley takes in the view, basks in the love, and gasps out a plea.

"Harder… Harder, Angel!"

Aziraphale cannot help being vocal; it is in his nature. He moans in response, his face contorting with pleasure and his shoulders flexing as he lifts himself slightly to gain traction, screwing into Crowley. The demon has heard more cursing from Aziraphale in his last five sentences than in the previous six thousand years and it only amplifies his attraction to the terribly unholy principality.

"Oh my. Fu-" Aziraphale loses his breath, but the sentiment is there. "You feel incredible. You are, Crowley... amazing."

Aziraphale feels the way that Crowley rolls beneath him in response; he hears the demon moan and babble wonderfully unclean words, then tries to think of less sinful things in an attempt to pull himself away from the edge he is already teetering on. His body feels as is if it is glowing, skin screaming with joy; he allows Crowley to pull him closer by his tie and thrusts harder. The demon’s parted lips are the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, and he leans in to taste them again.

The two kiss each other hard, thrusting and rolling until neither is sure where one of them ends and the other begins. They cry each other’s names and curse all of those who’ve managed to keep them apart until now: this is exactly where they were made to be. Aziraphale throws his head back as he approaches orgasm, and Crowley watches, the sight of it pushing him closer to his own edge.

"Crowley! I’m-"

Crowley kisses the angel as he feels his cock swelling, stretching his opening. Aziraphale’s moans build to a mind-blowing, world-altering crescendo and Crowley can only stroke back his lover's hair as he basks in the beautiful sounds, the knowledge that he is the first to make Aziraphale feel this way. Crowley moans: when he knows that Aziraphale is about to climax, he reaches up to hold his beloved close. As the angel comes he gasps and trembles, fucking his plentiful spend deep into Crowley and whispering the demon's name over and over again.

"Crowley... oh, _Crowley_." It sounds like a prayer, rolling off Aziraphale's tongue like an incantation, encased in adoration and the raw pleasure of Aziraphale's first time making love to somebody. To _Crowley_. His voice is low, breathless, hardly more than a moan: Crowley wants to listen to the sound of the angel coming undone for all of eternity.

Crowley tenses around Aziraphale's throbbing shaft, savouring the intimacy of feeling his love finish inside him. As Aziraphale’s abdomen shifts erratically against his cock and the sweet, loving angel tries to give him gentle kisses despite their laboured breathing, Crowley feels his own release arrive. Waves of wild pleasure break inside of Crowley and through it all Aziraphale nuzzles and kisses into his neck, trembling softly above him, whispering sweet nothings against his skin. His come spurts up between their bodies in thick ropes and Aziraphale’s pupils blow wide at the vision below him. As the peak of his orgasm rolls like thunder beneath his skin, Crowley cries Aziraphale's name and feels the angel's blinding love envelop his trembling, shaking corporation, as soft and as strong as a beautiful pair of richly feathered wings.

They close their eyes at the same time. Panting, they each hold the other. They bask in the afterglow, exchanging lazy kisses, neither attempting to pull away from the embrace.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By the time they come to from lounging in the heady scents and sensations of adoration they realise that they must have moved; Aziraphale feels himself lying beneath his partner’s body, and Crowley finds himself above.

"I love you."

They both speak at once, voices mingled into one, neither sure exactly which sound came from which mouth. But it didn’t matter.

It is Aziraphale who opens his eyes first: a shocked silence ensues. Then, Aziraphale speaks.

"Crowley…" He shakes his partner. "Crowley!"

Crowley opens his eyes and it takes him a moment to resituate himself. But when he does, the two share another look.

Only this time, Aziraphale gazes into hazel green eyes and Crowley into golden ones.

Aziraphale reaches up from beneath and gently touches the cheek that he normally knows to be his own. He feels an instinctive rush of love coarse around the body that usually holds Crowley, and he smiles.

"Choose your faces wisely."

Crowley’s face lights up, glowing with an endearing mixture of mischief and relief as he comes to understand what Aziraphale is suggesting. "Bloody hell, Angel. You look damn good as a redhead!"

The two of them laugh.

Maybe they are meant to have a little more time after all.


End file.
